Hurricane Eyes
by The Spectrum Sings
Summary: When Luna does say something, you realise, Miss Lovegood has a way with words. She has prose and poetry, verbal skill and style, expression and linguistic features, yet is initially unaware. It's in the way her mouth forms the letter 'o', the way her eyebrow raises gracefully, her smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. Hermione pov, Hermione/Luna.


Luna doesn't have to say anything, she never has done. She says so much without words. I think it's her eyes. How can I explain eyes that are so... perfect? Luna's eyes are blue, but there are not just any blue. They are oceans and storms, rivers and rain, streams and hurricanes. They are azure and cobalt, navy and sapphire, cerulean and indigo. They are a vortex of life.

When Luna does say something, you realise, Miss Lovegood has a way with words. She has prose and poetry, verbal skill and style, expression and linguistic features, yet is initially unaware. It's in the way her mouth forms the letter 'o', the way her eyebrow raises gracefully, her smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. All these things make her ever so beautiful. Yet somehow, her beauty is misunderstood. When she speaks, she sings of nargles, laments of fairies, and whispers of unknown creatures. Each and every word is careful and pressed, like a flower between pages of a book.

When Luna walks towards me, I sigh. I catch faint hints of perfume, subtle hints of tiredness. I see her fragile, gliding limbs. I hear her graceful footsteps and tantalizing breaths that I yearn to turn into gasps of passion. I feel heat radiating from her slim body, I feel dainty in the presence of love.

"Why are you smiling at me?" Luna hums self consciously. Our friendship is peculiar. We rarely agree, and yet we cannot bear to go more than a few lonely days without returning to the other's side.

"Because you're perfect." I say without hesitation. Luna tilts her head adorably, checking to see if I am lying. A smile curls at her creamy, red rose lips. I tire of the thirst for her touch. My tongue brushes my lips unconsciously, and of course her glinting, quick eyes pick up on the movement.

"Nervous?" She asks ever so innocently, her light, casual tone does not mix with the darkening of her eyes. Sometimes, I am tired. I'm tired of her perfection and the restlessness it inspires within me. I'm tired of her unknown love for words and phrases and ideas. Sometimes, it's okay just to sit back and close your eyes. Sometimes, it's okay not to think. But Luna's mind is constantly spinning, as is mine. We both are thinkers in completely different ways. Logic and myth do not mix well and yet opposites attract.

"Of course not." I answer. There is a certain kind of loveliness and splendour in the answering smirk that graces her features. It tells me she does not believe me, it tells me she knows exactly the reason for my unconscious wanting. There is magnificence in her movements as she slinks forwards.

"Are you sure about that?" Luna breathes into my ear. The air tickles me, ghosting down my neck and into my spine. She is delightful. Her eyelashes flutter in the most endearing way, yet I still feel the lukewarm feeling lingering in my stomach rise to scorching burn, sending the butterflies soaring. It makes me sad that the only bit of solace I've found is that of books, of others writing, words arranged delicately, precisely. It's interesting, really, how much I want to find myself through words. It's interesting that Luna's words have this affect when she is really saying nothing at all. It is interesting that solace spreads to her waiting arms.

There is uncertainty in the air.

"Get a move on." She whispers and I startle, drawing back slightly to look her in the eyes. They are hurricanes dancing on the pavement, lightening clashing in the darkness, winds tearing through fields of mash land. It is lust and deep inside, behind the hurricane, is an ocean, where the love waits for the calm.

And so I kiss her. It is not fireworks; fireworks when you kiss are not real. Our kiss is desire, longing, beauty, attraction, and heat. It is biting and sucking and whimpers. And then it is soft, gentle, caressing. Then it is love and lust, thrown together and yet perfect, side by side.


End file.
